Flirt Read online

  He held out his arms and she walked into them. “I’ll call Ian,” he said, and then he kissed her. “Have him meet us there.”

  The house in the garden district had an entirely different feel from the plantation outside Baton Rouge. Where that house had been graceful and stately, this house screamed Victorian excess. It was large, and white, with an overabundance of gingerbread that dazzled the eye. Every wood trim and architectural feature imaginable graced the house. The many-gabled roofs were covered with slate shingles, and a fisheye window looked out onto the street from the attic. Fish-scale trim peeked from under the rafters and balconies, while dental molding trimmed leaded glass windows and doors. There was even a turret and a cupola.

  “Well, what do you think?” Noah asked when they pulled in the driveway.

  “I’m stunned,” Olivia admitted. Never in a million years would she have pictured Noah Lazarus living in a house like this. “As many times as I’ve been passed this place . . . I just assumed a couple of old spinster ladies lived here.” She looked at him and blinked several times, then turned back to eyeball the house again. Jesus, it looked like a couple of nineteenth-century architects all got together and threw up on it! “You know, dressed in their Victorian clothes, maybe even widow’s weeds. Or a witch’s lair, except the yard’s too nicely kept. Doesn’t exactly scream hot, hetero guy lives here, does it?”

  Trying to wrap her mind around the idea of Noah living in such a house, she sat there for another long moment. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his shoulders shaking while he silently laughed.

  “You shit!” she cried, smacking him on the shoulder. “Oh my God. You had me believing I was going to have to live in this monstrosity!”

  He was laughing so hard, tears were rolling down his face. “Oh, I wish you could have seen your face! You were trying so hard to find something good to say about the place and . . . and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a loss for words!”

  “You mean you don’t own this house?”

  “Oh, no, I own it. I just don’t live here. I live around back, in the carriage house. Ian lives here.”

  Olivia uttered a strangled laugh. “Ian? You mean, Allie’s going to have to live here?” She howled with laughter. “Oh, my Lord. She may forgive him for turning her, but I’m not sure she’ll ever get over this.” She whacked him on the arm again, just because. “Okay, show me where we’re going to live.”

  The carriage house was made of brick, with bright white trim, and a beautiful wrought iron fence enclosed the small, perfectly manicured yard.

  “Now this,” she told him, “is absolutely perfect.”

  He opened her car door and scooped her up into his arms. “In that case, I think it’s time to carry you across the threshold.”

  “I second that,” she said, toeing open the gate latch for him.

  A smiling Ian met them at the door. “Welcome home, Olivia.” He gave her a peck on the cheek and stood aside to let them enter. “You’ll be happy to know Allie’s home from the hospital. I explained things to her, and she’s a little weirded out about it, but she seems all right. She’s over the moon about the baby and says to tell you all’s forgiven.”

  “Oh, thank God, Ian, I was so worried.”

  “I think we all were,” Noah said. He clapped Ian on the back. “That’s good news, brother.”

  They stood there awkwardly for a moment, until Ian cleared his throat. “I told Allie I’d be back soon, sooo . . .”

  Olivia swallowed hard, then nodded. “Where to?”

  Noah took her hand. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “All right, top of the stairs to your left. Follow me.”

  The master bedroom was a study in jewel tones—deep greens and blues combined with ruby reds and topaz yellows to dazzle the eye. The bed was covered with a deep red duvet embroidered in an emerald and topaz floral motif, and big, European-style pillows covered in bright silks were propped against the ornate headboard of a centuries-old mahogany bed. It was sexy and soothing and altogether her in every way. A stretchy, maroon knit shift lay across the foot of the bed, and Noah picked it up.

  “I thought you might want to wear something more comfortable,” he said, gesturing to the bathroom. “Take all the time you need.”

  Olivia closed the bathroom door behind her. Leaning against it, she took a deep breath. She was about to step through a door that, once opened, could never be closed again. It was exciting, sobering, and frightening all at once. But it was a step she was ready to take. All her life, she’d wondered what was wrong with her, why she’d been unable to love any of the men who’d offered themselves into her keeping. Knowing that she was incapable of the one feeling that every woman she knew had experienced and gloried in at least once in her life had pained her.

  Now, she knew why. None of those men had been Noah Lazarus. She was the woman he’d waited centuries to make his own. She was for him and none other. She undressed, folded her clothes neatly, and pulled the soft, clingy shift over her head.

  He was there when she opened the door. “I’ve waited for you all of my life, Olivia. I give you my word, you will never have cause to regret the choice you’re making here today.”

  She felt like a giddy bride when he picked her up and carried her to the bed they would share from this day forward. He lay her down, whispered “I love you,” and stretched out beside her.

  “Give me your wrist, kitten, and join me in my world.”

  His fangs burned when they pierced her wrist and began to drink. It was the oddest sensation. She felt featherlight, as though she was floating on a gentle summer breeze. She looked down to see her mother smiling back a her, encouraging her to come to the light. And there was Kelly Larsen, her friend all throughout her school years, who’d died in a bloody automobile on the night of her senior prom. They were smiling and happy, beckoning to her to join them.

  Then Noah’s voice urged her to drink something thick and warm. He held it to her mouth and let it flow, sweet and salty across her lips, vowing to love her forever if only she would drink the exotic magic potion.

  She drank in great, hungry gulps, drank until she was intoxicated with it, and then Noah left her, replaced by Ian, who offered her more, and so she drank from him. And, oh, it was wonderful!

  Olivia opened her eyes to find Noah cradling her against his chest, stroking her hair, soothing her brow.

  “It’s over, love. You’ve been converted.”

  His voice was so weak, it disturbed her. “Are you all right? Did I take too much?”

  “No, my pet, we just need to rest now. Ian’s called for a couple of volunteers to come over later. We’ll feed again, and everything will be fine.”

  “Where is he? I want to thank him.”

  Noah chuckled softly. “Always the proper Southern lady. Ian’s gone back to Allie’s place. Perhaps we’ll see them later. Rest now, kitten.”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “I’m so sleepy.”

  The volunteers arrived early in the evening and Noah instructed Olivia on how to feed without harming the donor. They fed, rested once more, and would have made love if not for the frantic pounding on the front door.

  The door opened on a stricken Ian, a piece of paper crumpled in his fist.

  “Oh, God!” Olivia cried. “What’s happened?” He just stood there, looking dumbstruck, until Noah pulled him inside.

  “She’s gone,” he said numbly. “All her clothes, her cosmetics. She left me.”

  Noah led Ian into the living room while Olivia closed and locked the door.

  “She left a note.” He opened his hand and let the paper fall to the floor.

  Olivia picked it up and began to read aloud: “Forgive me, I know this is the coward’s way out, but I’m afraid if I see either of you I won’t have the strength to do what I know I must. I don’t know if I’m ready for this new life you’ve foisted on me. Immortality. A child. A man I’m bound to for eternity. If I am to
find a way to live with myself, I need to do that on my own. I wasn’t ready for a forever-man when forever only meant a few decades, and I’m not ready now that it means life everlasting. Please don’t try to find me. I’ll return when I’m able. If I’m able.”

  Folding the letter neatly, Olivia placed it in Ian’s outstretched hand. “What are you going to do?”

  He took a deep breath and stood up. “I’m going to find her and bring her home.”

  Olivia and Noah watched Ian cross the drive and enter his whimsical, Victorian house.

  “Will he find her?” she asked, closing and locking the door.

  “Of course, he will, love. They’re bound together, just as we are.”

  “But she’s a cop. She knows ways to disappear the normal person couldn’t begin to think of.”

  “Ian’s not a normal person, darling, he’s a vampire. And a bonded vampire, at that. He’ll find her. It may take some time, but he’ll bring her back.”

  “Suppose she won’t come willingly?”

  “It doesn’t matter. They’re opposite sides of the same coin, now. Her blood will call to him, and his to her.”

  “And then, there’s the baby.” For that reason alone, she knew Allie would return to the man she loved, the friend she cherished.

  “Yes,” he said. “There’s the baby.” He smiled and patted her bottom. “Tell me, kitten, what’s your opinion of babies?”

  She pretended to think about it for a long moment. “I’m not sure I ever had an opinion on babies.” He looked so crestfallen, she finally let him off the hook. “Other than that they’re wonderful, and they smell good, and I’d like to have one of my own as soon as possible.”

  She screeched when he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. “You’re going to pay for that, pet,” he said, climbing the stairs.

  “Oh, goody, I like the way you make me pay.”

  He swatted her ass and tossed her on the bed, following her down. “And pay, and pay, and . . .” he said, and kissed her.

  The End

  About the Author

  India Masters was born and raised in Melbourne, Florida, where she learned to love surf fishing, boating, and anything to do with the outdoors and water. She has been happily single since the mid-’90’s with no plans to rectify the situation. She has a twenty-one-year-old daughter whom she refers to as the coolest person currently breathing on Earth, and she worries about her mom remaining single. To this, India says, “I write my own men now, and the fantasy is much better than the reality.” You may contact her at [email protected], or her Web site at http://www.geocities.com/indiamasters53.

  Coming Soon From Amira Press

  The Lost Are Never Far

  By

  Stephanie Barmann

  As Jasmine drove into the town of her birth she felt no special connection, nothing that brought back fond memories of her youth. The only thing that sent the memories swirling through her brain was that damn rusty train bridge. The moment it came into view, the tears built in her eyes and began to fall down her cheeks. For over a decade, she’d done the best she could to push away the memories of the last moments of her brother’s life. The bridge was the one thing that pushed them all front and center once again. She wiped away the tears and kept driving toward the destination that had brought her back to North Riverview to begin with.

  People always looked at Jasmine funny when she told them she was a ghost hunter. Some thought she was lying, others assumed that she was nuts. In the seven years she’d been doing it, she had seen enough to know there was more than what one could see with a closed mind. She’d seen everything from colored orbs to very clear apparitions. She’d heard sounds that couldn’t be explained and helped many people understand what was in their homes. It was helping people understand that had brought her back to begin with. She had agreed to study a building that was thought to have a demon haunting, which had been terrifying a young family.

  With a sigh, she pulled her rearview mirror down to study her reflection. As always, her bright green eyes brought her a pang of sadness, they were so much like Jacks. Then again many of her features mirrored those of her brother. Her dark hair which spilled down over her shoulders in waves, her dimples which appeared only with a frown, there was so much of him in her own reflection. So many times over the years she wondered what he would have become. Would he have joined her in her strange profession or went on to the greatness he had been more than capable of achieving.

  Jasmine pushed away the nagging thoughts of her brother as she pulled up to the small group of vehicles set up around the property at one twenty-seven Redwich Way. Her heart started racing the way it always did when she had to be around a lot of people she didn’t know. She had never completely gotten over those childhood feelings of not fitting in. It was strange that she didn’t even blink an eye when it came to facing the dead, but the living terrified her. Everyone judged her it seemed and their opinions were not favorable. It really was stupid because by the time she get to know a person she often found a friend in them.

  A large balding man walked toward her car wearing a smile much too broad for his face. He didn’t look like a ghost hunter but more like an old detective. He wore a suit with no jacket and a tie he’d unloosened. His wrinkle lined eyes narrowed as his gaze traveled over her when she opened the car door. Instantly, she was met by the smell of stale cigarette smoke and beer that clung to his clothing, which made her wonder if he’d come to work straight from the bar. It seemed rather unprofessional. She may not have looked the greatest in her simple jeans and t-shirt but she tried her best not to look like a slob either.

  “Jasmine Grund?” He asked, knowing that it was her. It wasn’t a hard guess since she was the only one coming from Bakersfield Paranorm that would be helping in the investigation, and the company name was written across the hood of the car.

  “That’s me.” She said, pulling a large bag of cameras and files from the passenger seat.

  “I’m Harv Miller. I’m the head of this investigation.” He turned to look at the group of men behind him who’d suddenly become loud with laughter. “Those guys are a rowdy bunch, but I am sure you’ll like them.” Harv took Jasmine’s bags from her and led her toward the vans.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off the house. It was spooky enough just standing outside looking at it. Large weeping willows lined the pathway to the porch and English ivy hid most of the brick exterior all the way up to the three gables. Even the large arched windows seemed to be looking at her, as if sizing her up. Before long, the strange turning sensation Jasmine got in her gut when she knew there were spirits near began to plague her.

  “Jasmine?” A voice she thought she recognized called out from behind her. Ghost and demons had never scared her, but this voice made her want to turn tail and run in fear. She turned and came face to face with Mitch Benning, her only high school boyfriend. He was the first person she’d kissed, the first person to break her heart. Ten years had passed since she’d last seen him, the day she caught him in the arms of one of her best friends.

  He looked great, better than she wanted to admit. His strong jaw framed the cute crooked smile that had attracted her to him when they were still just kids. His tight white t-shirt clung to his chiseled abs and muscular arms she knew the feel of wrapped around her all too well. Jasmine’s gaze locked on his nearly clear blue eyes, and she had to force herself to look away.

  “Mitch, how are you?” She tried her best to hide the emotions that threatened to spill out. The pain and anger he’d caused her was still exceedingly strong.

  “I am doing well.” Mitch’s gaze traveled up and down her body. Jasmine knew he had never seen her dressed in jeans and a tank top before. In high school she always dressed in conservative clothing. Never would she have worn a pair of jeans with a hole on the butt and a tank top that’s neck line dropped so low. “What are you doing here anyway?” he asked, when his gaze finally came back to her face.

  “
Work, I was called in to help with this investigation.”

  “Only because from what I hear you are a ghost magnet.” Harv chimed in as he walked over to hand her a digital voice recorder. “And I hear you are real good at what you do.” He winked.

  She couldn’t help laughing to herself remembering when she was given the nickname The Ghost Magnet. Her boss John started calling her that because he said a place would be boringly inactive until she walked in, and then every spirit within fifteen miles would make its appearance.

  “That is what they say, but I wouldn’t say that myself. I am just really good at what I do.” She said, with full confidence. Jasmine had studied the paranormal practically her whole life. She was drawn to it like a child to a candy store.

  “When do we go in?” She asked, taking another look at the old mansion. The sunset colored sky had begun to cloud up and night was showing signs of its impending arrival. The house seemed to have been designed to look spooky and the evening only brought out that quality even more.